Sanity of Earth
by murdercrowther
Summary: Over a hundred years ago, a Cybertronian landed in the Kuril Islands. He stayed there for seventy-three years till 1917. Then, he left. This mech was called Prowl. He was never found by the Autobots or Decepticons. Until now.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey! To anyone who has read my previous work, sorry about not updating for ages. I have been busy hating the crap country I am in. pardon my language but that is the only way to describe this hell hole. It literally should go to hell. Their language is probably the most stupid in the world, and they have the IQ of a fruit fly. No, screw that, a fruit fly is a genius compared to them. _

_Well, after that little rant, I would like to introduce: Sanity of Earth_

_Slight AU – or however slight you wish to think this. Also, no romance – unless asked for._

_Note: I do not write slash. If it seems like slash, it is not._

…_._

_July 14__th__ 1916_

His optics scanned the environment. It was an amazing area, one of the few places on earth that he considered beautiful. It was not tarnished by human influence, but rather, held a tranquil peace, like the crystal gardens on Cybertron.

He drew in a vent of air. Seventy-two years he'd been stuck on this planet. Seventy-two years he'd been waiting. And for seventy-two years he had not left the place he had landed in.

Of course he knew that he could leave anytime. There was nothing stopping him. It was a very remote location; very few humans even came here. He didn't know the name of this area, but it provided the silence he had been longing for the past seven hundred vorns.

This mech had not spoken in years. He had begun to believe that his voice box was just rusting over from lack of use. He had even forgotten the sound of it. But still he did not speak.

Why shatter the silence for something as trivial as consolation?

He was not a social mech, and seventy-two years of solitude did not send him into insanity. Rather, it had allowed him to focus and _regain_ some form of sanity.

The Cybertronian did not know if there were others of his species on this planet. His communication links and doorwings had been damaged upon entry. But it was highly improbable any of them had made it to this backwater planetoid.

His thoughts drifted to his own home. He recalled the destruction of such a great society, a society that did not deserve to be destroyed.

And while the memories were painful, he never let anything show. It was a well honed practice, to never give anything away. It was helpful during his time as an Enforcer, a tactician and Second in Command.

He did not know how he was even able to reach that position. It just happened. It seemed most likely that he simply met all the criteria for the post. And yet there had been so many others just as worthy.

But the workload was quite a burden. Something that few mechs or femmes could handle. But he could.

The Cybertronian stood straighter as the first light of the day cracked over the horizon. An up-side to total solitude. He was able to recharge for once. As for refueling, Wheeljack had been a great help with that.

Before the total destruction of their planet, the crackpot inventor had decided to take precautions. He had created a small device, that slowly but surely made energon from several different energy sources. He had created quite a few of these devices, and gave them to the Bots that would actually listen to him for a moment.

The astrosecond he had arrived on earth, the Cybertronian picked out the energy source. Earth's sun was right there. Granted, it took at least two orns to fill half a cube, he was not one to complain, after he had willingly gone for long periods of time without refueling or recharging while in the position of Head Tactician and then SIC.

The device proved extremely useful, and had so far – surprisingly – not exploded or broken down.

Drawing in a second draft of air, he set to work on his forms. Nearly a vorn of solitude allowed for him to perfect his Circuit Su training, something he had slacked off while serving in the Autobots. But now? He had all the time in the world.

And all the time in the world was quite a bit.

… … …

_February 12__th__ 1917_

He held the energon cube in his servo, staring out over the landscape, though not paying attention to it. Humans had come by here a day ago. They had not discovered him. Lucky for them.

The human's physical structure was surprisingly similar to that of a Cybertronian, when in bipedal mode. It possessed the basic parts that each being on Cybertron had. Servos – or hands – pedes – or feet – legs, arms, torso, face, mind-

He was not sure about this last one.

Of course they had brains – their intelligence was just severely lacking. It was like they purposefully went out of their way to seem stupid.

How he was able to make this conclusion was because he had come into contact with humans once. A couple of travelers in 1874. It was purely accidental, but he had learnt a few words of their language as they were getting away. The mech did not know any human languages, but this one seemed strange.

The group that had come by yesterday appeared to be speaking a different dialect than the one he had heard before. But human languages were all confusing.

And now – for once in a long time – he would've liked to talk to his own kind. There was no feeling of safety in being on a planet that was entirely comprised of organic life. What if he was the only Cybertronian left alive?

That thought was pushed away, but his grip tightened on the energon cube. He knew that seventy-three years was a sign.

They weren't coming.

No Cybertronian would be arriving on this planet. And even if they were here, it would be impossible to find them. They may be able to find him – but they wouldn't be looking for him. They'd be looking for their leader – unless he was already among them.

There was no way off this planet. So he might as well just accept it.

Getting up, the mech sub-spaced the energy converter, and began the short trek to the coast. The easiest way to get out, seen as humans haven't gotten very far in ways of technology, was to swim. He had seen the organics do this, and after much study, had deemed the liquid substance harmless to Cybertronians, unless it should get into their systems.

And while he had very limited knowledge of earth, the location he was at was not to far from land. It would take at least a half a joor, or more to reach a larger expanse of area.

The land was cold. He had come to notice a pattern in the first few years of his arrival. There were sections of time where the weather differed dramatically. Of course, this island was already low in temperature throughout the year; at times it rose or fell for periods of time.

A white spec drifted down in front of him, followed by another. This happened sparingly. But he knew that if in large quantities, this form of climate could easily offline him. He had calculated this. The liquid substance should be at a right enough temperature not to kill him, and depending on what the mainland's weather was like, he would either freeze over, or be greeted with a warmer area.

Either one was fine. Earth was smaller than Cybertron. He would survive. The sky was grey.

Undoubtedly, one of the first few things that the mech noticed about this planet – minus its evident accumulation of organic life – was the strange atmosphere. Humans would most definitely not survive on his planet. The atmosphere consisted of gases. He was not able to identify those gases.

As the thrashing sea came into view, the Cybertronian faltered. Should he do this? Leave the sanctity of this veritable paradise?

He could just remain. Continue with the same routine, not have to put up with any problems, or war. But…

His optics sharpened. No, he couldn't stay here. If there was any small chance that other Cybertronians had arrived on this planet, his best hope for finding them was not on this island.

Steeling himself, he reached the shore.

Four and a half hours later, he arrived on the mainland.

Left on that island was a datapad.

The mech began to walk through the icy land he had arrived in. He felt his joints becoming stiffer. He did not let up.

… … …

_February 12__th__ 2013_

/: _Jazz, the reports are three weeks late_:/ Optimus reminded his Third – turned Second – in Command.

/: _Ah know Boss Bot, but there's just so many of them!_:/ The usually even-tempered Autobot was stressed out. He'd been working non-stop since Mission city, and when he actually took a break, the work piled up /: _Ah wasn't cut out to be SIC, an' ya know that!_:/

/: _I understand Jazz, but these things are very important. Our relationship with the humans is rather strained after the last Decepticon attack_:/

/: _Ah know. But this is ridiculous! How did any mech survive bein' in this position?!_:/ Jazz placed his helm in his servos. Sure they had given him a break when he was brought back from the dead, but anybot would get time off for that. He couldn't really call on it anymore. And then there was also fighting. They were all kind of recovering from the Sentinel Prime incident. Except Jazz. No, his work doubled thanks to that.

He was not a mech who liked having a desk job. Pit, none of the Autobots did. Even his predecessor didn't enjoy it, he simply hid it well.

The saboteur smirked. Predecessor. The smirk fell from his face. He wasn't his predecessor, he was his friend.

"Dead friend." He muttered darkly. Nobody had heard from the mech for vorns. He may still be out there in the dark expanse of space, searching, like so many others. But many had joined them in the years following Mission City. Such as Arcee, Elita-One, Chromia, Skids, Mudflap, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Blurr, Jolt, Wheeljack and just recently, Smokescreen and Bluestreak.

And to say the least, Jazz now understood why this position was so rued. It was total hell. He had to deal with both sets of Twins, Ratchet's temper, and hundreds upon hundreds datapads filled with work.

Releasing a vent of air in what could be considered a sigh, he scanned over the next datapad. Something about a new liaison coming over after the other one quit. Again. Boring. Then another thing about Wheeljack being sent to the med bay. Boring and normal. Then something about the Kuril Islands, with a piece of Cybertronian technology on them-

The saboteur paused. What? He reread it. Nope, exactly as before. Now this was interesting.

He read on.

_A piece of Cybertronian technology was discovered in the Kuril Islands. It has been identified as Cybertronian due to the dialect on it. It is currently in the possession of the Kamchatka Peninsula, and they are willing to hand it over to the leader of the Autobots, on condition that – should they ever be attacked by your enemies – you will supply protection to their community._

_Darmen Schitzkof._

Jazz nodded thoughtfully. Those were good terms. Far better than what some countries had asked of them.

But his thoughts went back to the piece of technology. The letter did not describe what it looked like, only that there was Cybertronian writing on it. Could it be a datapad? Maybe the Decepticons were there and left it behind. It could contain much needed information on their enemies. It did not even cross his mind that it could be of Autobot origin. They always kept a close eye on their dwindling forces, and nobot had been sent to the Kamchatka Peninsula.

Getting up from behind the desk that was really for somebody else, the Head of Intelligence made his way towards his leader's office. He knew that he simply could comm. Optimus, but it seemed better to tell him about this in person. So to speak.

While walking down the concrete halls, he ran into Jolt, who was speaking animatedly with Ratchet's other apprentice, Mikaela. After her break up with Sam, she had stayed on here, considering it a good dig, seen as she kind of didn't have any other job, and bills were bills. Jolt seemed to be explaining something about the Cybertronian anatomy, but stopped to greet Jazz.

"Hello sir." He said formally. This was another thing the Saboteur hated about this position. Everyone was just so formal towards you. It was unfair.

Quirking an optic ridge, the Polyhexan replied. "Jolt, ya know Ah told ya not ta call meh sir. At least not while we're still on this planet."

The junior medic shifted uncomfortably while Mikaela simply smirked. "I know. But you are Second in Command." As if that was reason enough.

Jazz resisted the urge to scowl in annoyance. "Ah wish Ah wasn't." And he continued on. This was not usual behavior for the suave mech, but he hated what he had to put up with. How anybody could do this job was amazing.

He sped up with walking down the hall, reaching the Prime's office in no time. He sent an entry ping to notify the Autobot leader of his arrival. The door opened.

"Come in Jazz, what can I do for you?" Optimus' ever calm demeanor never wavered as he took in the slightly annoyed yet slightly pleased expression of his friend.

The saboteur went straight into business. "Optimus, the humans found a piece of Cybertronian tech in tha Kuril Islands. Ah think it may be a datapad left by the 'Cons."

The Prime was silent for a moment. "Why do you think it belongs to the Decepticons?"

Jazz hesitated. Wasn't it obvious?

"Optimus, it can't be ours. None of our forces were sent anywhere near there."

… … …

_September 7__th__ 1918_

He had walked straight into a revolution. The Russian Revolution to be exact. How he was able to make it all the way across Siberia and into this country without dying, he did not know. What he did know was that he shouldn't be here. The only problem was, he didn't really know how to get out.

The humans' city was large, so it would be likely they would find him should he try and go anywhere else. And seen as people were outside nearly everyday and night, leaving under the cover of dark was not something that would work.

Sure, he'd been able to travel through the streets and alleys of Praxus without being noticed, but humans had very small buildings. This limited his ability.

He drew in a cold vent of air and assessed his location. It was a dark and dreary warehouse. Containing ammunition. The humans would find him if he stayed here. Of course they would. There was a war going on as well.

He sank down to the ground, as his processors went to work on the best option of escape. He nearly laughed, but his expression remained emotionless. How could he have sunk so low as to have to escape humans?

The mech knew that there was an easy way to go by this. But the humans' vehicles were so…pathetic. And square.

Besides, he would look very beaten up if in that form. His doorwings were still damaged, as well as other parts of his armor.

He shook this thought away, as his processor came up with only three options. Take the form of one of those pitiful vehicles, expose himself to the humans, or kill himself.

Joy.

He was not a vain mech, but the vehicles the humans had were not ideal, and he did not have the appropriate frame type to take the form of a tank.

Now he simply had to find one.

… … …

_October 3__rd__ 2009_

"Prowl? Prowl!" The thick accent of the Russian operative entered the Praxian's audio receptors. The tactician glanced over at the human, his expression never changing.

"What is it Yuri?" He asked. The man held a bemused look on his face.

"You are not paying attention. Zhe drop zone is coming up." Sure enough, the location was nearing. Prowl glanced out of the now opening cargo doors and onto the white expanse that was the Swiss Alps. Or, what he could depict. After all, it was night.

"So it is." He muttered. Standing up from his position on the plane – specially designed – he readied his weapons. The mission was simple. Infiltrate the facility, hack into the systems, and collect the data.

/: _Remember, we don't want any screw ups_:/ The female voice of the field scientist sounded through the comm. link /: _This is extremely important work_:/ Unlike many of the people he worked with, this one was not Russian. Nobody really knew what her nationality was, and honestly, they didn't care. As long as she did the job, they were happy.

/: _I have never – as you so eloquently describe – screwed up on any mission Ms. Parker_:/ Prowl replied.

There was a slight pause /: _I know that. But there's always a first. And you've known me for ten years now, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Anne?_:/ This almost made him smile. Almost.

"Approaching drop point!" Yuri called over the rushing wind. The mech's optics sharpened, and his processors went through every single way to execute this perfectly. This all took under half a second, before he launched himself from the aircraft. Why send in an extraterrestrial robot? They aren't expecting it.

Yes, Switzerland is a neutral country, but that did not mean they didn't have secrets. An anonymous tip to the Russian secret service had them wanting to investigate this. But that did not rule out that this may be a trap. So, they were sending in the one being who human weapons wouldn't really affect.

As he hit the white powder, and began moving through the area, Prowl thought on how far he'd come since staying on that Island. Of course, it hadn't been particularly easy.

But he couldn't think about his experiences at the moment. He had a job to do. And yes, while he could simply hack into the Swiss files remotely from Russia, he had not revealed this to his colleagues. Seen as the last time he was discovered, they had found out about it, and he had been electrocuted into stasis. Then, his mind was hooked up to a device that kept entering codes, and problems, and his logic processor and battle computer just kept giving them answers.

It was one of the most…humiliating…things he had ever experienced.

That was in 1976.

To anybody watching him, it would appear as a black and white flash. While he could never be as fast as Blurr, he had agility.

Static crackled over the comm. line before a voice came through /: _How far are you from the location?_:/

/:_ I am there_:/ It was a fairly large complex, and from what he could detect, well guarded.

No problem.

Using a similar tactic like he had while in Romania, the Praxian sent up a flare from his location, before moving onwards, and setting off another one.

And somehow, this actually worked.

Humans are idiots.

After moving round to the east side, he began the task of burning through the steel walls. Fairly easy. As the first layer came off, a slight rustling came from behind him. He was instantly on guard. His doorwings should have picked up the life sign. Unless…

He strained his sensors till he was able to pick up a signature. And he nearly crashed.

Stationed not to far a distance away, was the spark signature of Starscream. Immediately, Prowl knew this mission was a bust.

Activating his comm. link to a frequency that the Decepticon air commander could not detect, he signaled Yuri /: _The tip was false. I cannot explain everything at the moment, but do not come near the facility. I will meet you at the outskirts of Gimmelwald_:/

/: _Vhat? Prowl vhat is-_:/ The connection was cut, as Prowl made his way away from the only other Cybertronian – that he knew of – on this planet. While it was some sort of relief to know that there was another, he wished it wasn't this one.

His Decepticon counterpart was the worst of the worst. Conniving, deceiving, lying. The list went on.

And the most logical course of action: Do not apprehend.

The commander had the advantage of air superiority. And the Praxian was stuck in the Alps, surrounded by snow.

Not a fair fight.

So he kept moving.

… … …

_February 12__th__ 2013_

"Hey Jazz!" Bluestreak greeted cheerfully as the Saboteur entered the rec room. Ah the rec room. Humans had a building to themselves, and so did Cybertronians. And the Cybertronian rec room comprised of Smokescreen gambling, and the younger recruits arguing over what program the human television should be set to.

"Hey Blue." He greeted, grabbing himself a cube of energon. The young gunner could sense that his friend was tired, and a bit irked.

"It must be hard having this responsibility." The sniper made conversation. Jazz nodded.

"Ya have no idea. Ah don't know how Prowl put up with it." He took a sip of the makeshift energon. While not as good as Cybertronian energon, it would have to do.

The young Praxian shifted slightly. The subject of his previous mentor was a touchy one at most. There were only three Praxians left, and that was him, Smokescreen and Prowl. And there wasn't much hope as to whether he was alive.

Glancing back at the saboteur, Bluestreak replied. "Well, working was always what he did best. He used to go for orns without refueling or recharging. I think that although he was good at the job, it was slowly killing him." Well that was reassuring.

Behind the visor, Jazz rolled his optics. "Thanks Blue. That really helps."

The young Bot didn't catch the sarcasm. "Your welcome Jazz."

Primus help him.

…

_PLEASE REVIEW_

_Well, what do you think? It's been a while since I wrote a story, and I haven't updated my other stories in a while. But I hope that you enjoy this story, so please leave a comment, that would be really great._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello readers! _

_Now, I just want to say that every single town, city or country in this, is real. While it may seem weird, Russia does have a place called Samara, and there is a country called Belarus, along with a town called Dzisna. Seriously, go look it up._

_Also, I pose no insult to any of these countries. I find them to be rather fascinating, and hope to one day visit them, even though I only found out that Belarus existed today._

_Seriously, it is actually really hard to spot. I have had a map in my room, for the past two years, and I couldn't spot it. And it is fairly large as well. And yes, while that may sound blonde, please understand that a lot of you probably have never heard of it as well._

_And now, a continuation to Sanity of Earth._

* * *

_Gimmelwald, 1900 hours. _

_October 3__rd__ 2009_

The two humans sat in the cockpit of the extraordinarily large plane. Thanks to being able to study Prowl, they were able to reverse engineer the technology to create a craft that was similar to Cybertronian transports. Of course, the main question had been why Cybertronians would need transports.

Yuri lifted up a silver whiskey flask and brought it to his lips. After taking a swig, he smirked at the disapproving look that the female scientist shot at him. And just to irk her, he drank another.

"Bloody hell." She muttered, before turning towards the controls that were in front of her. She began the task of prepping the ship for leave, knowing that Prowl would be there shortly.

The Russian laughed at her discomfort, and remembered exactly what had put her off alcohol. It had been a day unlike any other. Mainly because they had been in Croatia. So it wasn't below zero degrees.

Long story short, she had drank too much and crashed the communications van into a café. Nobody was hurt – how that happened was unknown – but she had been laid off of field work for the rest of that year.

Turning sharp eyes on him, the brunette spoke with as much authority as she could muster. "Yuri put that away. You're the pilot; if you crash this plane then we're all screwed." That tactic did not work.

The spy simply shrugged. "Eh, I've flown on more. And besides, you have no right to say zhat I shouldn't drink vhile using a vehicle-"

That made her snap. "I have every right to say that! I have first hand experience!"

He tipped back the flask again, and looked at her lowly. "Zhat is true, but you can't hold your alcohol. You are like disrespectful teenager trying to seem so cool, yet failing miserably."

Anne turned away from him, a frown clear on her expression, trying to come up with a witty enough come back. But she had nothing. She couldn't say he had no right to call her a teenager because he was older than her by just under a year. It would make the retort pointless.

They sat in silence for five minutes. Snow had begun to fall, and it added to the already white landscape. Yuri put the lid back on the flask, placing it under the seat. The shadowy outline of Gimmelwald faced them. There was enough distance between them and the town so that they would not to be noticed by the residents.

Anne stared out of the window, contemplating why she ever took this job. Sure it paid well, but the continuous danger wasn't very reassuring. And she was pretty sure she couldn't buy her life back.

The communications line crackled to life and the slightly annoyed voice of Prowl came through /: _Let me in_:/ It was very rare for the Praxian to get slightly annoyed. This was one of those times.

The cargo doors opened for him, and then closed immediately after, as the humans did not want to freeze from the cold. Nothing passed between the beings for a few moments, and Yuri did not move to start the aircraft.

Anne sighed. "What happened?"

The tactician did not answer immediately, as his processors scanned through what he had just found. It couldn't be possible? Could it? And yet it was.

"…it does not matter. We must leave now." There was no room for discussion. That does not mean the humans didn't try.

Yuri started the plane while Anne glared at the Cybertronian. "Prowl we need to know why you called off the mission. Our objective was to find out if the tip was true. What do you have to back up that it wasn't?"

His doorwings twitched minutely at the pestering organics. "Information that does not concern either you or your superiors." He then noticed the direction in which the aircraft was heading. "Do not return the way we came. Should we pass over that base it will not end well." Prowl did not doubt Starscream's ability to shoot down anything he considered a threat, or simply an annoyance. And while the Decepticon commander may be wearing a spark dampener, the humans could be picked up easily. To him, they'd be fun targets.

Yuri did not let up. "Yes? Vell vhich vay do you suggest ve go? Our safest route _is over zhere_. Ve have zhe best chance of getting back to Murmansk going in zhis direction." In conclusion – best chance of not being shot down by every country they flew by.

The Praxian did not let up. "We will not go near the compound. If you value your lives humans, you shall listen to me." And it turned into somewhat of a threat.

The Russian scoffed. "Give me a reason."

"I do not require to answer too a lesser species, and have the ability to return to Murmansk on my own. If this plane crashes both of you shall die and I will not. And it will either crash through your own idiocy, or by my servos."

It was silent for a long while, before the aircraft was turned away from the direction it had been heading in. Anne continued to glare at her comrade, before asking. "Alright Prowl. You can be completely disrespectful to the human race, but never that much. What's got you so scared?"

She did not receive a reply.

… … …

_February 26__th__ 2013_

Jazz sat at his desk, still ticked off. He had been waiting on that datapad for the past two weeks. Surely humans could deliver this faster? And he knew it hadn't gone to anybody else, everything came to the SIC first, unless it was of a matter of emergency, in which case, it was the Prime. But this was not a matter of emergency. It was just something that people had found. How was it taking this long?

He then realised how much he was acting like Prowl. That made him straighten his spinal struts. There was nothing wrong with his friend – other than the fact that he never refueled or recharged, showed no emotion, never socialized and had a glitch – but it was not a very pleasant thought that he was turning into that.

Releasing a vent of air, the saboteur tried to focus on the task at hand. The task at hand of course, was Sunstreaker scaring the new liaison into leaving. The sociopath Autobot was somehow able to convince the 'Reasonable' human, that there was an outbreak of 'Space flu', and that any organic in contact would die instantly. The man was now nearly as paranoid as Red Alert. Nearly.

So, Jazz's task was to review replacements. Seen as nobody had volunteered, the government had just picked out a couple of random names and allowed them to pick. It didn't matter whether or not they said no.

And the list began. The oh-so-very _short_ list. His optics scanned over the candidates, but very few of them seemed like they had any experience working with insubordinates.

An entry ping had him looking up from the list, relief showing on his faceplates. No more having to sentence men to their doom.

The door opened to reveal Arcee. She greeted her friend. "Hello Jazz." The femme held out a very beat up piece of technology. "The datapad found in the Kuril Islands is here." She placed it on his desk.

He stared at it for a moment, noting the faded colour. While no longer the stark black it had usually been, it could be considered a very dark grey, with the added benefit of looking covered in ash. In fact, there was some ash. And dirt. Quite a bit of dirt. And it was littering his desk. The visored mech questioned whether it would even work, what with its terrible condition. But then again, it could hold Decepticon plans…

The revving of an engine brought him from those thoughts. He glanced up to see Arcee waiting impatiently. "Well?" She demanded. "Are you gonna access it?" It was evident the femme wanted to know the contents of the file.

The saboteur smirked in contained amusement before switching on the datapad. It took a few seconds to power up, and from its exterior, it looked considerably bashed up. The first sentence Jazz was greeted with was not what he expected. As his optics scanned over the seemingly meaningless sentences, Arcee glared at him.

"Jazz, I'm not telepathic." The spy paused in his review of the pointless file, and waved his servo in a dismissive manner.

"Ah don't know what ta tell ya. It's…just a schedule." He received a quizzical look from the other Cybertronian. He made to elaborate. "There are just detailed accounts of different things bein' done at different times."

She quirked an optic ridge, skeptical of the device. "Is there anything else?" Surely a schedule could not be the only thing in an obviously aged datapad.

Jazz shrugged, but continued through the file. The schedule stopped short of a list of degrees. Then the interesting stuff came.

Below the schedule was a list of observations. Mainly pointless, they were about the landscape and…the sun?

The saboteur relayed this to the other Autobot. Arcee leaned over to get a better look at the datapad, her optics narrowing. "This doesn't seem like something a Decepticon would write about." Jazz nodded, agreeing with her.

He continued down the digital page, so far not finding anything remotely useful. This was not good.

Throwing down the now completed file, he leaned away from the desk, as the femme observed him. He let out a frustrated vent of air, and glanced at the other being. "Do ya ever wonder why it's never just simple? Never just goes our way?"

She smirked, amused at his annoyance. "All the time." Her tone and expression grew serious. "But this is war, Jazz. Don't forget, you've got a job to do."

He sat straighter, a frown gracing his faceplates. "Ah preferred mah old job. Sittin' behind a desk all orn was Prowl's duty. Goin' over reports was Prowl's duty. Dealing with troublin' front-liners was Prowl's duty-"

"Planning and controlling battles was Prowl's duty and function. This is just the job he got from working too hard." Arcee interrupted him. "Just like it's your duty and function to run Special Ops. This occupation is hard Jazz. Ask any Second in Command before you."

If he had not been wearing his visor, she would have seen him rolling his eyes. "The SIC before meh was Prowler. An' Ah don't know where he is."

A sad smile showed on the femme's expression. "There is a chance that he didn't survive getting out of Cybertron. A lot of good mechs and femmes were shot down that orn." Her superior did not reply, and she knew that she wasn't going to be able to get anything out of him. So, Arcee left the room, intent on getting back to her own job.

After a few moments of silence, the saboteur reached for the datapad again. He _was _Special Ops after all. And he knew that nothing was ever as it seemed. He began hacking.

And yes, while sometimes the inevitable simplicity did overrule the possibility of something more, it was always good to check.

… … …

_Murmansk, 1200 hours._

_December 4__th__ 2008_

The tapping of computer keys resounded in the large room. The graying brunette sat in front of the computer screen, trying not to fall into the blissful abyss of sleep. She had been working all night, and now half way through the day. Of course, it was so dark outside you couldn't differentiate between the two sections of day.

She paused for a moment to rub at her eyes underneath the square rimmed glasses that framed her face. After nine years working here – slowly slipping into ten – age eventually took its toll. She envied Prowl and his long life. What a way to experience everything. And to be immune to every disease, and defy the body's limits.

She smirked. Would suck to be lonely for all those years though. Or what was it he called it? Oh yeah, vorns. Eighty-three human years to a vorn. At least, that's what she thought it was. Her memory was going.

As the numbers scrolled past the screen, she remembered her first day on the job. She had been promised unexpected, even weird, but it had still been a rather large shock to find a giant robot standing in her warehouse – or what she liked to so gracefully call, base of operations. And it wasn't exactly _her_ warehouse, seen as the Russian secret service owned it. She just worked in it.

Anne smirked as she recalled herself gawking at the Cybertronian. It had been such a strange thing. Then her future comrade stepped out from the large mechanical creation's foot and introduced himself as Yuri. Little did she know how much hell she'd have to go through with this guy. He had then introduced the large mech. Of course, she believed it to simply be an invention created by the Russians, but imagine her surprise when it began to talk fluently.

It had taken her a few days to be certain nobody had been controlling it, but after that, she had a lot of questions.

Returning back to reality, Anne glanced up as the smaller door to the side opened, allowing a gust of ice cold air to rush in. There was a full out blizzard happening outside, and anybody out in it was mad, or had a death wish. Which made her question the sanity of her colleagues. Both human and alien alike.

Yuri walked in, rubbing his gloved hands together, for whatever good it did. The brunette paused in her work as the larger doors opened for Prowl, which allowed in snow, wind, and a being that was able to walk around in the city without being spotted, due to weather like this.

Glaring in annoyance at the mech for sending the inside of the warehouse into nearing zero degrees, she hugged her jacket closer to her body. The two life forms that had come in didn't seem any better off. She swore that there were icicles hanging from Prowl's doorwings and Yuri's nose.

The Russian closed the smaller doors, while the Cybertronian did the same for the larger one. Anne sighed. "Why did I ever accept this job?"

Yuri laughed. "Because you couldn't resist the chance to know." Whatever that means. He placed down the food that he had so painstakingly gone out to collect. Why Prowl had gone out with him, they didn't know. And driving had been out of the question. Black ice was evil.

The female ran a coarse hand through her graying hair, and took off her glasses. "You know, it gets really boring being stuck up here all alone."

Yuri put on mock hurt. "Vhat are you talking about? You have us." He gestured to himself and the sentient alien robot behind him.

"I mean, its boring being stuck up here when everybody else was sent to Samara*." She stood up from her chair. "Why were we left here?"

"A new tactic that they are employing." Prowl spoke up from his prolonged silence. He continued. "They are placing small teams of personnel in smaller cities or areas in Russia, and directing main forces to larger, or more populated areas, that would likely be targeted. This is so that the other parts of the country are also secured should an attack be directed to this or any other region."

There was a slight pause, before the female sighed. "And how are we to stop a threat, when it is just an alcoholic, a field scientist – who can't even program computer viruses – and an alien who has been ordered not to make an appearance to the outside world under any circumstances?"

Yuri shrugged non-caringly. "All ve do is contact zhe people who can fight, and zhen zhey do zhe rest. And I am not an alcoholic."

The other human sighed again. "Ok, fine, I get that. What I don't get is why you," She pointed towards Prowl. "Weren't taken to the front lines. Surely a giant robot would be more useful to protect the country where he was most needed."

The Cybertronian did not show any emotion in his reply or expression. "I cannot be seen by others who have not been informed of my existence, and I have made it clear that I am not going to be used again." Memories of that time were pushed down. "Besides, I requested to stay."

Anne gawked, while Yuri just laughed. "Why!? Why would you want to stay here?" The femme demanded.

"This world is large; I do not wish to experience any more of it than I already have."

… … …

_Dzisna, Belarus_

_March 26__th__ 1927_

How? How did he end up in a country that, honestly, in all the human maps he had had to look at, never showed up? It was right next to Russia, with Latvia and Lithuania above it, and Ukraine underneath it. It was a fairly large country, yet it was totally invisible unless spotted by chance. On a map.

And now, he was stuck in the Rajon region, with a town whose population surpassed his own. It was sad almost.

Currently, he was stuck on the outskirts of Dzisna, next to a large river. And while – fortunately – it wasn't freezing cold, he was still stuck with the dilemma of what to do.

He couldn't approach the humans – that usually elicited a negative reaction. But he had faced this before. It had been a long time since he was last in Russia. And while it had taken two years to get out, he had been attempting to find anywhere in Europe that was as deserted as his last peaceful location.

He rued the day he left that place.

And now, seven years after leaving Russia, he had traversed only part of Europe, as his travels were halted by the environment on several occasions. Namely the sea. While he had accomplished crossing it once before, he would never do so again.

Turning away from the direction of the town, the Praxian began the long walk to once again try and get out of a country. While an interesting place, it was severely lacking in any form of shelter that was large enough to enclose a Cybertronian.

Coming to the decision of heading South West, Prowl wondered what the point of doing this was. He had not come across any other form that may be alien in nature, even if it wasn't Cybertronian. Yes, while humans were technically alien to him, their minds were so closed off and un-accepting of the unknown, that they had nothing to offer anymore. And until they learnt to accept it and move on, the human race was useless.

As the day turned into night, only a dark figure could be seen walking the landscape. There was no grip for the pathetic vehicles the humans had so far created. Thus, it was walking.

Prowl would've done anything at that moment to simply return to his dead world. While it may have been futile, seen as any life left on that planet was slowly being extinguished anyway, it would have been nice to gaze at the last remnants of Praxus and Iacon.

He regretted not being able to do more for his home world, not being able to stop the Decepticons. And the Autobots.

This war was started by a power hungry mech, and a Prime who didn't do a slagging thing to stop him. This was added to by the choice of sides. To think, if nobody had joined them and simply let them fragging whine about it for a couple of vorns, their planet may still be alive.

And while the Autobots were loyal to the Prime, and understood that he did not want this war as much as the rest of them, everybody was pretty much spent. They'd given their all to the war and for what? Victory? Pride? To prove a point? No.

A dead planet.

Over the course of ten years the Cybertronian had watched the humans. Watched their fights. Their wars. And yet, they never seemed to _just die out_. Was it their blind belief that they would always be in this universe that kept them fighting a pointless war?

One of these orns, there would come far greater beings, and wipe them out like they had done to so many other species on this planet. The Praxian's doorwings twitched in amusement. Perhaps the greater being would be his species.

Now that would provide for an entertaining spectacle. The humans would never win. Any resistance would be crushed.

He was already planning out how they would win.

That thought made him pause. They? What they? He didn't know where any of the other Autobots were.

It did not matter anyway. He continued walking. He had finally been able to regain some form of sanity since arriving on this planet. And he had not crashed once. It was pleasant not having processor aches every single orn.

Several years later, that would not be the case.

… … …

_Murmansk, 2000 hours._

_January 2013_

To anybody from the outside world, the small and dark office space was rank with the smell of alcohol and sweaty socks. There was an old computer in the corner of the room, with the Windows logo floating by on the black screen.

If there had been light, or if one looked closely enough, they could see the dim outline of a man reclining in a swivel chair. He was staring at the screen, oblivious to anything around him.

Three years. That was how long it had been since Anne and Prowl had left. Both had gone their separate ways – at least that was what he believed. He could never tell with those two.

He smirked as it all came crashing down on him. Oh he had kept it very, very quiet from Prowl for the remainder of 2009, made sure that the Praxian would not find out about the arrival of his race. Unfortunately he had gotten wind of it. Simply far too hard to keep something that big secret. And keeping the mech in a far more secluded part of Russia didn't help either.

Of course, Yuri did have a feeling the Cybertronian knew already. Ever since that mission in Switzerland. That was when he began looking into it. And what the Alien had found had made his trust in humans dwindle dramatically. This had been a world wide thing, and while Prowl did blame himself for not keeping a vigil account for anything extraterrestrial, it was no surprise to him that the man he worked with knew about it immediately.

Anne though, appeared to be almost ignorant of that fact. She had heard of something like it earlier in the year, but thought it to be something like what the Americans had come up with at Roosevelt.

The smirk fell from his ageing face. He had been told by his superiors to never let the Tactician get back to the Autobots. He had not failed in that sense.

They had taken him. They may have taken Anne. But if that had happened, she was probably dead by now. To bad. She had potential.

Of course, the Russian Government had asked questions about where the Cybertronian had gone to. He had simply repeated the same lie that they had told him. He didn't know.

While he was not deceptive in nature, the job they had been offering paid well, something that the current economy was not providing. Yes, he had a job of his own. But it had lost any sense of interest many years ago.

He leaned back further in the chair, threatening the delicate balance of gravity. While it was lonely being stuck here for quite a while, he didn't complain. There was nothing to complain about. His life was always hanging on the line with the beings he had allied himself with. But it was now looking like the wrong choice.

With Megatron's death, the Decepticon forces were scattering, running terrified. There was only a select group who still had control. And they were the ones keeping Prowl. Using him.

It may have been a form of torture, and the Russian did feel bad for his friend, selling him out. But in the long run, others had done worse. Far, far worse.

Besides, he had money now. He was able to get what he wanted whenever he wanted. Anything at all. Which begged the question why he was still here.

Drawing out a cigarette from his left pocket, the human fiddled with the easily crushable device. He can't remember when he picked up this habit, all he knew was that it redirected his guilt.

Pulling out a lighter, he lit the fine nicotine filled stick. For a moment the room was lit, revealing cartons of food, old clothes, and a gun on the desk. Then it was out. Just a small pinprick of red remained.

He was not a bad man for taking a side. Neither side is good or bad, even if their beliefs are different. They are neither good nor bad because of their actions.

War is an inevitable thing. It has been going on for centuries. Over land, religion, oil, food. The Cybertronian war was no different. They are fighting for what is right. But humans could not grasp what is right from wrong.

Living on this backwater planet, humanity has become the trash that skulks in alleys. Killing everything they see, and neither caring for anyone or anything but themselves.

In the end, the world will go to hell. And so will all its inhabitants.

He pulled on the cigarette.

* * *

_Okay. Sorry this took a while to get out, I've been busy. I want to thank the people who reviewed._

_2211Nighthawk_

_Yami-Yugi3_

_Not-Gonna-Update_

_And everybody who favourited or followed the story. I know this may not be one of my best works, trust me I'm kind of so-so on it myself, but I just needed to write something that has been bugging me for the past few weeks._


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